10. Osias #2
Later that night, the chaos outside Marco’s hit them like a tidal wave of flashing lights and shouting voices.
Osias felt Celina tense beside him as they stepped from the valet station toward the restaurant’s entrance, the familiar weight of her hand in his the only anchor in the storm of aggressive photographers.
This was getting worse.
Since the Oscar nominations announcement that morning, the paparazzi had transformed from persistent to absolutely savage. They swarmed like predators sensing blood, their cameras clicking in rapid-fire succession as voices overlapped in a cacophony of invasive questions.
“Celina! How does it feel to be competing against your boyfriend for Best Picture?”
“Is this relationship just a publicity stunt for the Oscar campaign?”
“Are you using Osias to advance Bates Films?”
The last question made Osias’s lion surge beneath his skin.
Using him?
The suggestion that Celina would manipulate their mate bond for career advancement was so fundamentally wrong it made his protective instincts roar.
“This isn’t a publicity stunt,” he found himself saying, his voice carrying the unmistakable authority of an Alpha even as he tried to keep his tone measured. “Our relationship has nothing to do with—“
Another photographer shoved closer, the camera lens practically pressed against Celina’s face. “But the timing is awfully convenient, don’t you think? Right before Oscar season?”
That was it.
Osias stepped forward, his imposing frame creating a barrier between the aggressive photographer and his mate.
His lion was demanding action, something permanent and violent that would ensure these parasites never bothered Celina again.
The urge to shift, to let his true nature handle this threat, pulsed through his veins like liquid fire.
“Back off,” he growled, the words carrying enough menace to make several photographers actually take a step back.
Celina’s fingers found his arm, her touch gentle but grounding.
The contact sent a wave of calm through their mate bond, her presence reminding him that losing control here would only make everything worse.
She wasn’t asking him to stand down—she was asking him to stand with her instead of in front of her.
Right. Partnership.
He forced his breathing to steady, his lion reluctantly settling as he focused on guiding Celina through the crowd rather than dismantling it.
Her quiet strength flowed through their connection, reminding him that she’d been handling invasive press for thirty years.
She didn’t need him to fight her battles.
She needed him to support her while she fought them herself.
“No comment,” Celina said smoothly, her public persona sliding into place with practiced ease. “We’re just here for dinner.”
They finally reached the restaurant’s entrance, and Osias felt some of the tension leave his shoulders as the host recognized them immediately and ushered them inside.
The sudden quiet after the chaos outside was almost disorienting, but he could still feel the lingering effects of his protective fury thrumming beneath his skin.
She handled that perfectly. And you nearly made it worse by losing your temper.
The host led them to a secluded booth in the back corner of the restaurant, away from the main dining area where other patrons might recognize them. Osias slid in beside Celina rather than across from her, needing the contact after the aggressive encounter outside.
This quiet intimacy away from cameras and crowds and obligations had become his favorite part of every day.
No pride business demanding his attention.
No film productions requiring decisions.
No Rennick hovering with barely concealed hostility.
Just Celina, real and unguarded, her defenses down in the safety of their private moments.
She leaned into his side, her warmth seeping through his shirt as she finally allowed herself to relax. Through the bond, he felt her relief at being away from the chaos, mixed with lingering frustration at the photographers’ implications.
“I hate that they think this is some calculated move,” she murmured, her voice carrying genuine hurt. “Like I’m incapable of having real feelings that aren’t tied to my career.”
Osias wrapped his arm around her shoulders, pulling her closer. “They don’t know you. They see the actress, not the woman who cries during sappy movies and steals my coffee every morning.”
That earned him a small smile. “Your coffee is better than mine.”
There she was.
The real Celina, sharp-witted and unapologetic, who could make him forget about billion-dollar deals and pride politics with a single smile.
The waiter approached their table, and Osias noticed how Celina straightened slightly, her public mask threatening to slip back into place. But she caught herself, settling back against him as she perused the menu.
“The lamb sounds good,” she said, not looking up from the page.
“Then order the lamb.”
He waited for her to make her choice instead of suggesting what she should eat, a small adjustment that had taken conscious effort during the past week. Celina was perfectly capable of deciding what she wanted for dinner. She didn’t need another man managing her choices.
She ordered confidently, and Osias felt a surge of pride through their bond.
Such a small thing—choosing her own meal without looking to someone else for approval—but he understood its significance.
Every independent decision was another step away from thirty years of having her life managed by others.
After the waiter left, Celina turned to face him fully, her eyes bright with excitement.
“I still can’t believe A Walk Toward Forever got nominated,” she said, her voice filled with wonder. “I mean, I hoped, but I didn’t actually think... it’s such a small film compared to the others.”
“It’s nominated because it’s extraordinary,” Osias said simply. “The Academy recognized authentic storytelling when they saw it.”
But then her face fell, the joy dimming as reality intruded on the moment.